The Gilded Avengers
by FineDwarvenCrafts
Summary: Lord Nicholas Fury is the head of The Royal Order of the Shield, a guild of knights, rogues, and wizards dedicated to protecting the kingdom of York. When a flight of dragons, lead by the dark elf Loki, threatens to destroy their peaceful existence, the best and the brightest of York must forge an alliance to stop him, at any cost. A high fantasy retelling of Marvel's Avengers
1. I: A Legend Reborn

Beams of sunlight came in through the window, filtering through the branches of the trees outside. Lord Nicholas Fury sat in their warm glow, resting his head against the back of his chair. Within minutes, the cyclops had fallen asleep in this relaxed position. His deep, monotonous breaths were the only sound in the otherwise empty room. All was peaceful, until a figure came barreling through the doorway. Startled awake, Lord Nicholas' eye snapped open as he jerked backwards, successfully tipping his chair over. The new figure in the room gave a gasp.

"Lord Nicholas! I am so, so sorry… let me help you!" The figure stammered, rushing to the cyclop's aid. Lord Nicholas waved him off with a growl.

"...Coulson," he acknowledged, glaring at the skinny young page boy before him. "I was wondering if you were ever going to show up."

Philip Coulson's face turned a deep crimson as he looked down at the floor. "Yes, well, my apologies, My lord. I was just-"

"I don't really care, Philip." The cyclops grunted as he removed himself from the floor. "Just make sure you break this habit of never getting to our meetings on time."

Philip's face returned to a more normal hue as he cleared his throat. "Of course, my lord. But if I may point out, Dame Maria isn't yet here, either…"

Nicholas glared at the boy. "No, you may not point out. You can sit your back-talking butt in that chair, and wait for the others for at least as long as you made me wait."

Philip scurried over to a chair on the far side of the table that was placed in the middle of the room, obediently taking a seat. Nicholas huffed and set his chair back upright, settling back down into it. For a while, an awkward silence was thick in the room. The only noise came from Philip blowing gusts of air up towards his hat, attempting to straighten the feather plume that continually drooped in front of his eyes. Nicholas was about to open his mouth and yell at the page boy in annoyance, when there was a knock on the door.

"Hear that? A civilized knock," Nicholas remarked as he gestured for Philip to go open the door. "Not someone breaking through the wall like we're under siege." Philip flashed him an apologetic look as he hurried from his seat and opened the door.

Panting, Dame Maria lurched through the door still wearing her riding gear. "Lord Nicholas," she muttered with her hands on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath. "I apologize for my tardiness, but I bring news!"

Philip's eyes widened at the sight of the Dame's disheveled appearance. Nicholas stood up from his chair and crossed to her side, snapping his fingers at Philip to go and fetch her a drink of water. "What news do you bring, Maria?" he inquired.

Maria cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure while grasping the stitch in her side. "Well, I am sure you have heard the legend, as have we all, of the noble Sir Steven Rogers? The valiant knight lost long ago on a treacherous quest?"

Nicholas' eye squinted as he nodded. "Indeed. The tales are many, though the ones who knew him are few. Why do you speak of him now?"

"Well, the matter is, my Lord," she smiled and chuckled in disbelief, "he is lost no longer."

The sound of glass shattering came from the hall. Nicholas and Maria started, turning around to see a wide-eyed Philip in the doorway, the chalice of water he had gone to bring Maria now a pool of glass and water at his feet. "I'm...I'm sorry," he stammered, his eyes never leaving Maria's face. "Could you... repeat that, my lady?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"I did not know what to think of it either at first, but I beheld him with my own eyes. Some fisherman said they happened upon him when a current whisked their vessel out farther than than they ever dared travel. The water was clear and they spotted him pinned down at the bottom of the sea by the wreckage of his ship. It took many men to bring his body to the surface, but when they did, they found he still breathes. It appears to be some sort of enchanted sleep that engulfs him; I know not if it is the work of a witch or merfolk, but I ordered the men to bring him here because you, my lord, would surely know how to break the curse. I came as fast as I could, time is working against us here," the dame spoke eagerly through heavy breaths and then collapsed into the nearest chair.

Nicholas clasped his hands together and brought them to his chin in thought. "I see," he murmured. "There are many ancient texts in my library, the solution to this curse will undoubtedly be found there. Philip, go fetch my...Philip?" Nicholas' sentence trailed off as he looked at the page boy, still standing frozen in the doorway. He had paled considerably while listening to Maria's account, and his whole body trembled as if he were cold. Nicholas would have worried that the boy had fallen ill, were it not for the bright gleam in his wide eyes and the impossibly large grin on his face.

"Did you say… that Sir Steven was… here?!" Philip squeaked, his voice cracking into a higher octave than he had intended. He cleared his throat to remedy it. A hint of a smile played across Nicholas' lips as he realized the boy's trembling was that of pure excitement. The young man hardly knew what to do with himself. Nicholas put a hand on the page boy's shoulder, causing him to jump slightly.

"Philip. I need you to go into my library and fetch the Healer's Tome." Nicholas instructed. "Bring it to me, and you will be helping save Sir Steven's life." he added. Philip's eyes widened even more, to the point where Nicholas was afraid his eyelids were going to disappear altogether.

"I..I would be…" Philip breathed, looking from Maria to Nicholas. He shook his head and gave a small jump. "Right away, my lord! I'll run faster than a brown rabbit! I'll be back before you can notice I'm gone! I.. I need to clean up this glass! Watch your foot, m'lord!" Philip bent over hastily to clear the pieces off the ground, his shaking hands resulting in a particularly large shard cutting his palm.

Nicholas winced for him. "Philip, you're bleeding," he pointed out gently. Philip looked at his hand for a few seconds before it registered. "Am I? No, it's not important. I have to get the book!" He declared, running down the hallway once more.

Maria shook her head and smiled as she watched him disappear from view. "What has gotten into him? I have not seen him that excited since you finally let him carry a knife." She looked to Nicholas with a concerned face, "You will be able to help Sir Steven, will you not? I considered Lord Stark or Master Banner, but you know how dangerous dealings with them can be; I thought bringing him here was the safest bet, for now at least. I could only imagine what would happen if he were to fall into the wrong hands."

Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eye, taking a deep breath. "You did the right thing, Maria," he said. He opened his eye again to give her what he hoped was an encouraging look. "The ancient tomes speak of matters such as these, and it would be much safer for him to recover here, away from the prodding fingers of Lord Stark or Master Banner. Perhaps when he is well, he can make the journey, but until we know all we can about his condition we cannot risk it." Nicholas paused and ran a hand over the bald skin of his head, glancing out the window. "It's time. Bring him in," he instructed.

"As you wish, m'lord. They are coming up from courtyard, I will hasten them. It will just take a moment," the dame spoke as she stood and strode out the door.

Within minutes Dame Maria's men brought in a stretcher. On it lay the unconscious form of Sir Steven, his blonde hair standing out against the tarnished silver of his armor. The Dame's men lay the stretcher on the table in the middle of the room, and Nicholas quickly walked over to check the man's condition. His breathing was normal, deep and slow, a good sign. Nicholas checked his pulse and frowned. It was a bit too weak and thready for his comfort.

"Philip!" Nicholas called out. "Hurry!" As if his words had been a summoning spell, Philip suddenly appeared back in the doorway, breathing hard to compensate for his sudden sprint down the hall.

"I.. I got… the b-b-book!" he gasped, smiling. He looked up and saw Sir Steven lying on the table, and suddenly his words caught in his throat. He dutifully walked over to Nicholas to deliver the book, but his gaze never left the unconscious knight.

Nicholas gave him a distracted smile, already leafing through the pages of the book. "Well done, Philip. Now go bandage that hand," he said, motioning towards the cut on Philip's palm that was still oozing blood.

"Yes, my lord. Right away." Philip said absently, not moving from his spot. Nicholas glanced up from the book.

"Philip," he repeated, a little more forcefully. "We need space. Go bandage your hand before it gets infected." He paused. "I'll make sure Sir Steven knows how much you aided us in saving his life when he awakens." he added.

Philip looked at him in disbelief. "Y-you will?" he breathed. Nicholas nodded, already absorbed back in the pages of the book. He only looked up again when he heard a dull thud, and discovered that Philip had fainted from excitement.

"Worry not, m'lord! I will attend to him," Dame Maria spoke as she knelt to Philip's body. She lifted his head onto her lap and checked for injuries. Finding none, she pulled a cloth from her satchel to bind his wound. His face was flushed, but he seemed to be fine. "I have never seen anyone engaged in such dramatics," she chuckled. "You two, take him to his chamber. It will be best to let him wake when he is ready," she ordered the nearby guards. "Too much excitement to be contained in such a small form," she mumbled as she smoothed the brown hair away from his clammy forehead before they carried him off.

As Maria had been attending to the young Philip, Nicholas had discovered what he had been looking for. Clearing his mind of all thought, Nicholas recited the ancient words written on the dusty, aged pages. He had removed the armor chestplate, and kept a hand pressed down on the knight's chest, keeping note of the rhythm of his heartbeat. Closing his eye, Nicholas repeated the words a few more times before pausing to take in a few deep breaths. The room fell silent as he did.

After a few moments, Nicholas felt the knight's chest begin to rise and fall rapidly. Opening his eye, he glanced down and removed his hand from the man's chest, reaching instead for his wrist to check the pulse. Instead of getting stronger, the veins pumped blood more erratically. Nicholas frowned. Steven began to convulse, and a tremor surged through his body that nearly caused him to fall off of the table.

Nicholas quickly held him down by his shoulders, firmly but gently. The knight convulsed a few more times before lying eerily still. Nicholas grabbed his wrist once more, laying his head on the man's chest to measure the beats. Instead, he was greeted with silence. Nicholas gave a deep sigh and hung his head, one hand going to his brow to cover his eye. The others in the room hardly made a sound, but a feeling of mourning began to permeate the atmosphere.

Suddenly, Sir Steven sprang to life. His entire upper body shot up as he took in a deep breath, eyes wide open. Nicholas sprang back in surprise, and then relief flooded through him. He caught the man's head just as he was falling back onto the table, gently easing him back down. Steven's eyes fluttered closed as he began to succumb to the darkness once more . "I...dance...M-Margaret...Buc...Bucky." He mumbled before falling once again into unconsciousness, a single tear from the corner of his eye streaking across his cheek.

Nicholas checked his pulse once more. It was strong and steady. Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief and smiled to Maria. "His sleep is natural now. He's going to be fine once he's had time to recover." he said. He turned to Maria's men. "Take him into Philip's chambers- it's the only room with a spare bed. He will need all the rest he can get." he ordered.

"Of course, m'lord." Maria complied. "I will see to it that Philip's soul stays in his body when he wakes up beside Sir Steven; the last thing we need is another incident today," she stated as she

followed her men to Philip's chamber, weary from her long journey and wanting to rest herself.

After everybody had filed out of the main room, Nicholas returned to his chair and once again leaned his head on the back of it- drifting off into a deep sleep.


	2. II: A Mission Most Treacherous

**Author's Note: This chapter is just an introduction to the fantasy versions of Clint and Natasha, so it's a little shorter than the last. I'll be switching character perspectives back and forth a bit in different chapters as the story progresses. Thanks for reading!**

In another, more wooded part of the realm, an elven archer was leaning against a tree, his arm muscles straining to keep an arrow taut in its bow. Clinton Barton, or just "Clint" to those too lazy to say an extra syllable, leaned his ear against the trunk of the tree and listened. Thump. Thump. Thump. The tree shivered with every thud, signaling to the elf that his target was approaching.

Clint narrowed his eyes and let out a long breath, clearing his mind and focusing all his senses on the sharp point of his arrow. In one swift motion, he pushed off of the tree trunk and tumbled to the right, aiming his arrow in the direction of the footsteps and letting it fly.

The projectile met its mark, as always, burrowing right in between the eyes of a large troll. With a small smirk of satisfaction, Clint relaxed his arms and wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow with the back of one hand. He reached into a small leather pouch on his belt, removing a crumpled poster with a drawing of the troll's likeness on it. "Wanted. Dead or Alive." it read in large, bold letters. Clint chuckled to himself, strolling over to the felled monster and nudging it with his boot. "Not bad for a day's work, and it's not even noon yet," he said to himself.

He reached down to begin tying the troll for easier transport purposes when suddenly he stiffened. Something felt...off. Clint stood back up slowly, hand automatically going to his quiver and brushing the feathered end of an arrow shaft. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, but then suddenly the presence he sensed began to feel familiar. He let out a small sigh of relief when he realized who it was.

"Natasha. I knew you would come," he quipped. "You just can't stay away, can you?"

"Did you really think I was going to sit back and watch you have all the fun?" she smiled as she stepped out from behind a tree and knelt to tighten his knots. "Nice shot, as always." She braced her leg on the troll's head and ripped out the arrow, throwing it back to Clint.

Clint smirked at the compliment. "That was nothing, you should see me on a good day," he teased, catching the arrow. He scraped the tip along his boot, wiping off the troll's blood before returning it to his quiver. "Any interesting bounties come up recently?" he asked.

"Just the usual trolls and goblins," she replied, leaning back against a large oak. "Except one. The sign did not have a name and the drawing did not give much to go on, but it said that he is a man with an enchanted arm of metal. I did not think much of it until I overheard men talking in the tavern of him. They say he's been traveling north, attacking travelers, merchants, and anyone else who crosses his path. I think it's worth looking into. He nearly killed a traveling queen in the south; you will not believe the bounty placed on his head."

The tips of Clint's pointed ears twitched in interest. "Really?" he asked. His fingers itched at the thought of a well aimed arrow scoring him a generous bounty. "We should look into it," he said with a grin. "Where do we start?"

She smirked and spun her flail anxiously. "I knew you would be up for a challenge. As much as this guy stays hidden, I could use those tracking skills of yours." Fetching a worn map from her bag, she motioned for Clint to come closer and pointed at a red x. "The last attack was a few miles east of here, not too far from the northern pass through the mountains. If I am correct, that's where he is heading. I've pieced together the stories of his tirades and it seems he is following on a direct path- I know not where, but he seems to be on a mission of his own. If we can make it to the mountain pass we may be able to ambush him," she spoke curtly, then folded the map and flung her bag on her shoulders.

Clint smiled and stretched his arms in front of him, cracking his knuckles. "Sounds fun," he said, eyes glinting in excitement. "If we go east through these woods..." he motioned towards a darkened forest thick with growth- "then we should make it to the mountain pass before nightfall. Shall we?" he grinned.

He began to stride forward, but she planted a hand on his shoulder and pinned him against a tree. "Clint," she said as she looked him in the eyes. "I know not what to expect of this man, but from the tales I have heard, we are not to take this lightly. Knights and lords have fallen prey to him, we must be on our guard at all times." She released his shoulder and continued. "If anything is to happen and we get separated, we will wait for each other at the tavern nearest to the north end of the pass."

Clint nodded, knowing that she needed him to give a sign that he understood the danger. He reached down and gently clasped his hand around her own, returning her serious gaze. "I'm not going to let anything happen, Nat," he said confidently. "We'll be careful. I'm sure when we find his tracks we'll be able to observe him for a while before making our move. Besides," he said, releasing her hand. "Knights and lords may have been felled by this guy, but he hasn't met us." he smiled.

Natasha smiled back at him, "He's sure going to regret it when he does. Now, let's go! We've got to make it there by sundown!" And with that she took off through the forest with him following close behind.


	3. III: The Knight Out Of Time

Back in his bedchamber, Philip slowly became aware that he was laying on his bed, a pleasant change from the cold stone floor he last remembered lying on. The light from the window on his left was shining directly on his face and all he could see was the color red. After a moment of reflection, he realized that was because his eyes were closed, and he slowly opened them- blinking rapidly to adjust to the bright light. 

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, taking it all in. His fingers unconsciously rubbed against the cloth bandage on his hand, the feeling suddenly bringing back the memories of what had happened before he had passed out. With a squeak, Philip bolted upright. He had to go check on Sir Steven! With new determination, Philip grabbed the blankets covering him and flung them aside, jumping down from his bed. As he started towards the door, a low groan coming from the corner of the room made him freeze in his tracks. Slowly, he turned towards the second bed, and was greeted by the sight of Sir Steven sleeping on it. 

"He's...he's...HE'S IN MY ROOM?" Philip screamed internally. He exhaled a breath after realizing he had been holding it in. Philip's thoughts jumped around in his head like grasshoppers, never quite coming together to form a complete command for his body to obey. He still found it hard to believe that his childhood hero had been found- he never dreamed that he would actually be able to meet him, much less share a room with him! 

As Philip stood motionless by the foot of the bed, Steven stirred. Philip's eyes grew wide as he saw Steven's eyes flicker open- looking around the room before focusing on the boy by his feet. He was disheveled, and confused, but the look he gave Philip was kind. "Hello," he greeted him. His voice was soft, a bit raspy after a long time of being unused. 

Philip's heart pounded against his chest. For a second, he was worried it might burst out of him and fall on the floor. "That would be embarrassing," he thought to himself. He brought a hand to his chest to keep the beating muscle inside. "Okay, Philip. Your hero just spoke to you. Now's your chance. Say something that will leave a good impression. Astound him with your wit and grace. Be calm, cool, casual." 

Philip swallowed hard. He opened his mouth; ready to smoothly return the greeting, or ask if he needed assistance, or tell him how much he admired and looked up to him. Instead, what came out was something entirely different. "MARIAAA!" he screamed in a high pitched voice. 

The door burst open and an exasperated Maria jumped through sword-first, ready to take on whatever threat caused the screech. The sight of the blade only succeeded in causing Philip's screech to go up a few octaves, leaving one to wonder how great his lung capacity was. The sudden noise and commotion caused the knight on the bed to yell out of reflex, his cry filled more with confusion than fear. The chorus of screams that greeted her took Maria by surprise as she let out a shriek of her own and quickly backed out the door, slamming it behind her. 

After a few moments of awkward silence, a quiet knock was heard on the door. It slowly swung open as Maria stepped in. "I believe I heard you request my presence, Philip?" she spoke calmly with her hands behind her back and her sword sheathed. 

Philip took a few deep breaths to compose himself, clearing his throat. He planned out in his mind a rational explanation for what had just transpired, and was ready to communicate to Maria that their guest had just awoken, and was most likely in need of some post-traumatic care. However, he ended up just pointing to Sir Steven on the bed. "He woke up," he explained sheepishly. 

"I noticed. Thank you for that observation," Maria spoke, trying to regain a professional manner. "I am surprised he refrained from fainting again given what just happened." She gave Steven a warm smile as she approached the bed. "It is an honor to have you with us, Sir Steven. I am Dame Maria Hill." He leaned forward to take her hand, but she gently pushed him back down. "Please take your time adjusting, you have been through a lot recently. We will explain everything soon. Ask for whatever you need and I will see to it that you get it." 

Steven relaxed, leaning back into the pillows of the bed. "My most sincere gratitude, madame," he said softly. "But- would you mind… telling me where I am?" His question sounded apologetic, as if he felt that his condition was somehow his fault, and he was now burdening these kind people that were having to care for him. 

"Most certainly, Sir. You are in the kingdom of York. In the fortress of Lord Nicholas Fury to be precise, the home of the Royal Order of the Shield, but Lord Nicholas will explain all of that too you," Maria answered before crossing the room to the doorway. "I will inform him of your awaking. Philip will attend you while you rest. Let him know if you need anything as he will be more than happy to oblige," she smiled at Philip then walked out into the corridor. 

Philip nodded in quiet agreement as Maria left. Steven ran a hand through his hair, taking in everything he had just heard. "The Royal Order of the Shield..?" he mumbled to himself, remembering. "Does that mean- is Margaret here? Or Howard?" he asked Philip, brightening a bit at the thought. 

Philip gave him a sad look. "I- I'm afraid not, sire." he stammered reluctantly. Steven looked at him in concern. "I've upset you," he observed. "My apologies. Do you know where they are?" Philip thought for a moment. "Wait here," he instructed. An empty command given the knight's current ability to do little else. Philip bounded to a bookcase beside his bed, tossing papers aside before retrieving a thick leatherbound book. He heaved the weighty object over onto Steven's bed, dust flying in all directions as it landed on the mattress. 

"This.. should explain everything," Philip said, opening the cover. "I've been collecting all official news about you since you went missing- and there's a lot in here about what happened to everyone else from back then." Eager to impress, Philip began quickly leafing through the pages. A stray paper fluttered onto the bed, and Steven reached down to turn it over. Amused, he realized it was a picture of himself- hand drawn and carefully colored with paint. 

"That's really good," Steven said with a smile. Philip looked at the page in his hand and felt all the blood rush to his face in embarrassment. "Oh, that.. that's nothing!" Philip stuttered. He took the page back and hurriedly tried to stuff it in his pocket. In his haste, he jostled the book and caused more pages with similar drawings to spill out. Turning even more crimson, Philip swatted them off the bed onto the floor, where he proceeded to kick them under the rug, mumbling. 

Steven gave a small chuckle, but didn't say anything else as he didn't want to embarrass the youth any further. Philip cleared his throat to compose himself for what felt like the hundredth time today. "This is what I was looking for," he said, pointing out an official herald news announcement. Steven read the date on the parchment, and then the date of the more recent papers scattered on his bedside table.

"I've been asleep.. for years?" He asked quietly. Philip gave a silent nod. Steven leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands as he stared blankly forward in thought. "Years…" he whispered to himself. "How am I supposed to get them back? All the time I've missed- what life might I have known?" Philip slammed the cover to the book, breaking Steven out of his trance. 

"I'll tell you what you're going to do, sir," he said confidently. Steven watched in confusion as the young page went back to his bookshelf and returned with numerous works. Upon closer inspection, Steven realized that they were all about...well...him. Philip held up one of the books. "You are going to do what you've always done- defend the weak! Stand up for truth! Never shy away from danger when you have right on your side!" he recited words from the books that he had no doubt read many times. 

Steven gave him a smile, impressed that the boy who had been screaming like a frightened cat just moments before was now displaying such passion. It was hard to ignore his infectious determination. "You have a strong will," he said. "A trait that will take you far, especially if you were to become a knight. Of course, you would have to be a squire first…" he trailed off as he noticed all the color leave Philip's face. 

"A.. a squire, sire?" he squeaked. Steven gave a slow nod. "Indeed, that's the training one must go through to become a knight." thoughtfully, he added- "I suppose I will need a squire now." A dull thud interrupted his musings, and he noticed with alarm that the young man had fainted right on the floor. "Ah, dear. Uhm, DAME MARIA?" Steven called out. 

After a brief moment the door swung open yet again. "No one scream!" Maria expelled as she walked into the room followed by Lord Nicholas who gave her a look of suspicion. "Do not even ask," she commanded, sitting on Philip's bed and rubbing her forehead. 

Steven gave them both an apologetic look. "He got a little overexcited," he explained. "You must be Lord Nicholas," he said, acknowledging the cyclops by extending his hand. Nicholas shook his hand firmly. "I am. You gave us quite a scare back there, Sir Steven," he said with a small smile. "I'm glad to see you looking well." Steven smiled and looked down at Philip. "I seem to be causing a lot of people distress today," he remarked. 

Nicholas motioned for Maria to attend to Philip. "He's an admirer of yours- we've hardly been able to keep him still at all since your arrival. That is, when he's not been unconscious." he added. Nicholas' expression changed to accommodate a more serious tone. "But now that you're alert, Sir Steven, I think it's time we had a talk. I'm sure there's a lot you want to discuss." 

Steven nodded. Since he already had some knowledge about where he was, and about The Royal Order of the Shield, he was slowly but surely beginning to feel like his old self again. "Yes. It would be easiest to discuss only the most important events that have occurred while I've been...away." he said. Nicholas nodded in agreement. "Very well. You should know, first of all, that you've been asleep for 40 years." he began. Steven exhaled forcefully through his nose but didn't say anything. "By what manner of spell you've been kept alive, we don't know. But those answers aren't our priority at the moment," Nicholas continued. "We have been made aware of a possible threat to our land very recently and determining its origin is our current goal." 

Steven's body language showed that he was listening intently. "What is the threat?" he asked. Nicholas reached into the folds of the robe he wore and pulled out a piece of parchment. On it was a drawing of a strange blue cube. "This...box," he began. "It doesn't look like much, but this powerful cube holds mystical power unknown to us. If unchecked, we don't know what it might do. We believe that your sudden reappearance, along with the discovery of this power, is no coincidence. Plans have been made to take the cube to Master Banner and Lord Stark, in hopes that they will be able to determine its magic- and more importantly, contain it." he explained. 

Steven's heart jumped a bit at the mention of the name Stark, memories flooding back to him. He realized that Philip had not found the pages in his book revealing the fate of his friend before he had fainted. "Lord Stark?" he inquired cautiously. "Not... Howard?" Nicholas folded the parchment he held somberly. "His son, Anthony," he said. "Howard's gone. I'm sorry." 

Steven swallowed hard at the news, but knew deep down that he had been expecting it. "And Margaret?" He asked. He didn't really want to ask. He didn't really want to know. He wanted to keep her image in his mind forever- endlessly twirling and gliding in the dance they never had. The corner of Nicholas' mouth twitched up into a small smile. "She's alive. Last I heard, she was living a quiet, domestic life in a cottage near the eastern woods." 

Steven's heart fluttered. In the back of his mind, he realized that his eyes were wet. He decided to ignore that. "I'm glad to hear it," he said warmly. His gaze met Nicholas's. "If there is a threat to the Royal Order, I want to help." he declared. Nicholas smiled. "I thought you would, Sir Steven. We gratefully accept. Once you are more rested we will make the journey to see Lord Stark." he stated, turning to leave. 

"One more thing," Steven said, settling back down into his pillows. "I request that Philip be made my squire." Nicholas chuckled. "It is done. I'm confident that he will hardly leave your side." he said. Steven closed his eyes with a grin as the others left the room. "I'm going to protect them, Margaret, for you." his mind said, as though he could telepathically reach her wherever she was. "I still owe you that dance." was the last thing he thought before drifting back into sleep.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, everyone!** **This has been a blast to write so far.** **Any and all feedback is both encouraged and appreciated.**


	4. IV: Trial by Nightfall

The setting sun seemed to elongate the shadows of the mountain range, providing Clint and Natasha with ample cover as they moved swiftly towards the pass. As they approached their destination, Clint began surveying the area for shelter. If they were going to watch for this mysterious bounty to appear, it was only common sense that they find a place where they could see, without being seen. Slowing his light footed jog to a walk, he noticed an eroded section on the mountain face a few hundred feet up, forming a small cavernous opening. It looked just big enough for them both to fit in, and provided a perfect vantage point of the pass.

Proud of his find, Clint stretched his arms above him before bending his elbows and resting his hands comfortably on the back of his head. "See that?" he asked Natasha, nodding his head towards the cave. "Perfect. And I told you we'd get here before nightfall," he grinned, noting that the sky was still well illuminated with hues of red and orange.

"Well, you're just right about everything today, aren't you?" Natasha chuckled as she gave his shoulder a shove. "Hold the confidence off until later; we have yet to get to the hard part of the plan." She grabbed his wrist and took off towards the cave.

When they reached the rocks below the cavern, Clint braced himself against the wall, holding his hands together to give Natasha a foothold. He gave a small grunt with the effort as he helped her push off the ground so she could begin scaling the wall to the cave. Making sure his arrows were secure in his quiver, Clint slung his bow around his shoulder and followed close behind. When they reached their chosen hiding place, he placed an ear to the smooth side wall, which curved only a few feet above his head. He quieted his breathing and concentrated, but didn't hear anything out of the ordinary. "Looks like the coast is clear, for now," he said. "I don't expect we'll see anything for a while, so you might as well get some rest now to save your strength, just in case. I'll keep watch."

She gave him a skeptical glare. "You're the one who has been hunting trolls all day, but fine by me." She shrugged off her satchel and used it as makeshift pillow, curling up on the stone floor just behind Clint. "Wake me if you even think you see something," she ordered as she closed her eyes. Hearing him grunt in agreement, she let herself fall off into a light nap, weary from travel, but too anxious to get any deep sleep.

Clint could tell from Natasha's breathing that she was sleeping lightly and he wondered if she knew that he had no intention of waking her up anytime soon. She needed her rest. Smiling a bit when she began to softly snore, Clint positioned himself so that he was almost a barricade in the mouth of the cave. He surveyed the darkening land below, but didn't see anything interesting. Resigning himself to the job of protector rather than surveyor, Clint settled his bow on his lap and kept the quiver nearby. He closed his eyes, listening. Listening to Natasha's breathing, to the whistling of the wind through the rocks…

Suddenly, Clint's eyes snapped open. With alarm, he realized that the moon was at a much higher point in the night sky. He had fallen asleep, for hours by the looks of it. Silently cursing himself, he crouched down and concentrated all his senses on the ground below. He felt uneasiness wash over him as an unfamiliar presence took hold, almost blocking out everything else. Reflexively, he drew an arrow from his quiver and settled it against the string of his bow, readying it.

His uneasiness grew. It wasn't until he pinpointed his target, seeing the gleam of metal reflected in the moonlight on the far side of the pass, that he could squelch his anxiety. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could track it. "Natasha," he whispered urgently, not daring to let his eyes leave their target. "Nat, wake up."

Natasha rolled to her side and jumped into a crouching position, grabbing her flail. "Where is he?" she quietly whispered in his ear. Her heart thumped against her chest and adrenaline coursed through her veins as she death gripped her weapon.

Clint's muscles tensed out of reflex when he felt the adrenaline emanating from Natasha in invisible waves. He nodded his head towards the gleaming metal. "Over there, on the other side of the pass." he said in a low voice.

She peered out into the darkness; her eyes were not as keen as his elven ones, but she caught the flashes of moonlight reflecting off him in the distance. "They were not lying about the enchanted arm, this man must be even more dangerous than the tales say," she whispered trembling with excitement. "I am going to get closer."

Clint reached out and grabbed her arm as she tried to slide past him. "Nat, wait." he said, moving his body in front of hers. "Let me go first. I want some of this guy left to talk too before you get a hold of him." he smirked, already scaling back down the wall before she had a chance to object.

"Always wants to do things his way," Natasha mumbled as she agilely climbed down the slope. "He's going to get himself killed one day, if he doesn't start listening to me." She made sure to make as little noise as possible as she crossed the pass, wanting to make sure they kept the element of surprise on their side. Slowing her pace and carefully controlling her footing on the unsteady rocky terrain, she began to close in on the man.

Keeping one eye on his partner, Clint slid down the rocks closer to the man. " _Alright,_ " he thought to himself. " _Wealth beyond my wildest dreams, here I come_." He pulled his bow taut, leveling his arrow with the man's thigh. Before he could make a move, however, a low rumble caught his attention. Slackening his grip on the bow to concentrate, he realized the sound was coming from loose rocks, ready to tumble over the edge of one of the mountain cliffs- their path headed straight for Natasha.

It didn't even take a second for Clint to decide to give up his position in exchange for yelling out a warning to her. "Nat! Above you!" he cried out. At the sound of his voice, the man with the metal arm whipped around. Their eyes met. A shiver ran down Clint's spine. He tightened his grip on his bow, holding it in a defensive position.

Natasha's heart skipped a beat as she tried to run out of the path of the boulders flying down into the valley, but it was dark- so dark that she couldn't tell which way they were coming from. Cursing Clint for blowing his cover, she tore through the pass towards him when suddenly she was pulled to her knees by her foot plunging into a crevasse. She strained to pull it free, but that caused smaller rocks to come loose and bury it deeper. "Over here, you metal monster!" she yelled in a desperate attempt to distract the man from pursuing Clint, but it was too late.

Clint kept his eyes locked with the man. He could tell that Natasha was struggling, and he wasn't about to let her play the hero. "Natasha, don't," he warned. The metal armed man took a few steps closer, and Clint let his arrow fly. It connected with the metal forearm, and the man merely reached over and pulled it out, to both Clint's dismay and morbid fascination. Clint knew that this bounty was worth more alive, so he decided that the most reasonable course of action would be to subdue him in close combat. He was good at things besides archery, after all.

With a yell, Clint lunged towards the man, and in moments they were exchanging blows. Neither one took the upper hand, as one was ready with a defense whenever the other struck. Noticing this, Clint tried to force the fight away from Natasha, hoping to trap the man in the corner of two ledges. "Not one for words, huh?" Clint quipped. With a smirk, he nodded towards the metal arm. "Not exactly a knight in shining armor, are you?"

Apparently, this joke hit too close to home with the man, because the next thing Clint knew was the sensation of metal fingers wrapping around his throat. Gasping, he clawed at the arm, trying to release it's hold. He stared into the man's eyes, trying to read the emotion he saw there, but the sudden lack of oxygen was making that very difficult. "W-what? You.. you can't take.. _ngh_..a j-joke?" Clint choked out.

In response, there was a whirring noise in the arm, and the grip around his throat tightened exponentially. Now Clint was beginning to get worried. The man turned around, pinning him to the wall. It took Clint a moment to register that his feet were no longer touching the ground. His reflexes were sluggish as his lungs screamed for air. The blood pounding in his ears threatened to drown out every other sound, and the feeble attempt he was making at removing the metal fingers from his throat slackened as stars began to dance around his vision.

He couldn't remember ever wanting to do something as simple as breathe so badly before, but he dimly made a mental note to never take it for granted again. He felt his arms drop to his sides and the stars were replaced with darkness, slowly creeping on the edges of his vision. He thought he heard a yell through the rushing blood in his head, but it sounded far, far away. Whatever it was must have been real, however, because a second later the arm released him and he fell to the ground, breathing in gulps of air and coughing.

For a few minutes he could do nothing but dry heave, and all his remaining strength focused on not passing out. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to refill his lungs with that precious, sweet, so often overlooked air. He felt pins and needles in his limbs as life surged back into them, and it slowly dawned on him that he should look up and see what had caused his attacker to release him.

A thunderous howl of pain erupted from the metal man as Natasha's flail ripped at the flesh of his back. "Don't… you… DARE… touch him!" she yelled between blows as the rage built in her eyes. Suddenly the man's metallic palm caught the ball of the flail and raised it until Natasha's feet dangled above the ground. With a swift motion she propelled her body forward and kicked him in the chest, sending him sliding down the hill.

"Clint, can you hear me? Clint!" she cried out, "Come on, you can't go down like this. I know you've got it in you. Now would be the perfect time to listen to me for once…ah!" She was cut off as the metal man plunged a knife into her stomach from behind. Letting out a moan of pain, her battered form collapsed on top of Clint's. Straining against the pain, she rolled over and lay beside him as the metal man continued on his path bleeding, but satisfied with his work.

Something sparked inside of Clint as he registered what had just happened. Natasha's body lying beside him- warm and still and tense with pain- only fueled the feeling of anger that began to bubble up inside of him. "Nat…" he tried to say, his voice raspy. He could feel a deep bruise already forming around his throat, a visual representation of how it felt on the inside. "Natasha," he tried again. "Natasha, say something. How bad is it?" He fought off the wave of dizziness that accompanied his sitting up in order to get a better look.

The dark made it nearly impossible to determine the severity of the wound. Clint quickly tore the hem of his tunic, wadding the fabric into a ball to try and staunch the bleeding. He could tell that Natasha was in more pain than she was letting on, and suddenly a pang of guilt began to settle in his stomach like lead. " _I'm not going to let anything happen, Nat_ ," his earlier promise forced it's way into his thoughts. " _What a great job you did of that, Barton,"_ his mind taunted him. " _Now look what's happened- It's your fault."_

Clint gave an aggravated yell, the sound more strangled than menacing. Anger pulsated through him- anger at himself, the situation, at the metal-armed man… he suddenly remembered their attacker and glared out into the darkness, his eyes straining to see where he had gone. He saw him walking down the path, as if nothing had happened. " _How dare you,"_ Clint thought, anger growing. He looked down at Natasha and gently brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Natasha. I'm so, so sorry," he said, apologizing for both the pain he had let her experience and for what he was about to do. He began to stand up, all thoughts on pursuing the metal armed man.

"No!" Natasha cried out in protest, lurching forward and grabbing Clint's wrist to hold him back. A wave of pain forced its way through her nerves from the gash in her side. "You can't do this, Clint. Stay here. LISTEN to me!" she pleaded through gritted teeth.

Clint maneuvered his wrist from her hold, instead letting her hand fall into his own. He held it tightly, an incomprehensible look flashing across his face before he gave her a half hearted smile. "I'm sorry, Nat," he repeated. "But you should know by now how much of a problem I have with listening." He gently laid her hand on the cloth stemming the flow of blood from her wound and took off running towards the man.

Biting back the surging pain, Natasha struggled to pull herself to her feet. "You're no match for him, Barton," she gasped between sharp intakes of breath. "If you leave me, you are not coming back!" She tried to follow him, but started to collapse, clinging to a boulder for balance. Already dizzy from the blood loss, she knew if she didn't bind the wound soon, she would be in serious danger. Noticing Clint had intentionally left his bag behind, she found the medicine kit and dressed her gash as she heard the sound of his footsteps grow fainter.

As Clint closed in on the man's location, he realized that he didn't have a plan. " _Make him pay."_ his mind decided. Clint's eyes narrowed as he reached behind him and pulled an arrow from his quiver, never slowing his pace. The hawk feathers stuck in the end of the shaft softly brushed against his cheek as he positioned his bow, ready to fire. A glimmer caught the corner of his eye, distracting him. His steps faltered as he saw the man with the metal arm was suddenly surrounded by a shimmering, translucent light.

Taking in a sharp breath, Clint noticed that the man was beginning to fade from view. He was disappearing. _He was getting away_. "No!" Clint yelled out in frustration, releasing his arrow. The object passed through the man, burrowing into the ground behind him. Disbelief fueled Clint's anger, and his pounding heartbeat seemed to propel his feet forward. As he got closer to the light, Clint felt a bizarre feeling of weightlessness come over him, but his adrenaline wouldn't let him stop. His feet carried him on their own accord, and he was suddenly so close to the man he could reach out and touch him.

That is, if he could move. For a brief moment, both men stood frozen, suspended in space. Then, there was a flash- and Clint's eyes widened as the world around him disappeared.

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	5. V: The Fallen Prince

The night sky covered the entire realm in a blanket of darkness, lulling creatures to sleep and creating a calm atmosphere. Any nocturnal animals who looked up at the stars would see only vast blackness dotted with light, a familiar sight that gave one a sense of serenity. However, the view was not quite as comforting when one was looking down at the sky from above.

Such was the case with the Dwarven Prince Thor Odinson. Thor's kingdom, Asgard, lay high above the stars that could be seen from earth- and as he looked down into the inky depths he saw no light despite the swirling galaxies beneath. He only saw the abyss in which his brother Loki had fallen.

Thor was on his knees, peering over the edge of the Rainbow Bridge, remembering the events that had unfolded there almost a year ago. He had been confronting his brother- which is an entirely different story altogether- when they had both fallen over the edge. The king of Asgard and the boys' father, Odin- had arrived and grabbed Thor just in time, leaving him dangling over the edge with Loki clinging onto his staff below him. Thor had tried to save him, oh- how he had tried, but in the end it had been Loki's choice to release his hold on his staff. He had tumbled into darkness, followed only by Thor's incredulous scream.

The memory of what had happened remained fresh in Thor's mind, and it was on restless nights such as this one that he would wander the kingdom, reliving it over and over. Those kinds of nights were becoming more and more frequent lately, for reasons Thor did not know. He had been feeling a tug in the pit of his stomach lately every time he looked down at where Earth, or Midgard, was.

As he knelt on the bridge, meditating in his thoughts, Thor heard the sound of weighty footsteps approaching behind him. He immediately recognized the gait of the man whom he had followed like an admiring shadow for his entire childhood. His father. In retrospect, Thor should have realized his odd behavior as of late would have attracted attention and concern. Odin stood behind his son, and for a moment an understanding silence hung in the air between the two. Thor didn't turn around, but he heard Odin draw in a breath to speak.

"Son," the King spoke, his voice solemn but wavering. He placed a hand on Thor's shoulder, "If there was anything I could have done I would have seen it through, but I fear that any efforts would have been for naught."

Day began to break, and the warm light spilling over the horizon began to wash away the dark. Thor clenched his hands into fists and pressed them against the smooth surface of the bridge. "I know, Father," he said, resigned. "Loki's choice was his own, and no matter how much I wish things were different, I cannot change that."

A grimace passed over the king's face, "It will do you well to remember that. The time is coming when the weight of the realm will be shed from my shoulders onto yours, and you cannot rule with the past clouding your mind."

Thor gave a serious nod, standing up from his kneeling position and turning around to face his father. "I understand," he replied tersely. "But these past few nights I have been feeling drawn to this place, as if there is something missing for me to find- my mind will not be at peace until I know what it is. I cannot know the reasons behind Loki's actions- I'm searching for an answer that I know isn't there." Mjolnir hung from Thor's belt, and he twisted the handle in aggravation as he tried to explain himself to his father.

"Your mother and I shall take a portion of the blame for that, my son. If you return to the palace with me, we may be able to grant you some peace of mind and enable you to move forward," Odin sighed. He had known the time would come when they would all have to face the truth, but he felt as though he would never be ready.

Intrigued, Thor followed his father back to the palace. They walked in silence, only nodding to guards on patrol in the hallways as they made their way to the palace throne room. Once inside, Thor was surprised to see his mother, Queen Frigga, waiting for them. She smiled warmly at the pair as they entered the room, but her eyes reflected her inner concern. "Good morning, my son," she greeted Thor, crossing the room and wrapping her right arm around his left. "Your father and I have noticed how troubled you've been lately- have you come to discuss it?"

Thor smiled back at her. "Yes, mother- but I have been told that you and father have more to tell me than I you." he said. Frigga looked over at Odin, a strange look flashing in her eyes before he gave her a knowing nod. Frigga let out a breath. "Come," she said to Thor, leading him towards the cushioned seats that sat against the wall nearest them. "Let us sit down and be more comfortable."

Odin paced uncomfortably in front of his wife and son; he had practiced this speech over and over in his mind for the past year, but never could find the right words. "You have heard the tale of our triumph against dark elves of Jotunheim so many times you can tell it better than I," The king let out a deep breath and steeled his nerves as he pushed forward, "Yet that day was fateful in more ways than you know, as I have never told you of what happened after the Jotuns' defeat."

Thor sidled his arm out of his mother's grasp and leaned forward, curious. "What do you mean?" he inquired.

"After the battle was won and the Casket was removed, I found a Jotun infant cast out into the cold, completely alone. He was extremely small for a dark elf, and after committing so many heartless acts in the name of war, I could not find the will to commit one more. I took the babe for my own and raised him along with you, never telling either of you his true heritage, until the events of late forced it upon me," Odin paused and met Thor's eyes. "I ask not for your forgiveness of my deceit, my son, but for your acceptance."

Dropping his father's stare, Thor clasped his hands together and brought them to his lips. He balanced his elbows on his knees and stayed silent in this thoughtful position for a few moments. When he spoke again, his gaze alternated between both of his parents- addressing them both equally. "Loki was… a dark elf," he said slowly. "Yet we grew up together- all those years had meaning. Despite his secret past, was he not still my brother?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Frigga's mouth as she ran a hand through Thor's blonde hair. "You're right. This revelation changes nothing between you two and all that you have shared." she said. Thor gave her a small smile, but then his complexion darkened in thought. "If I had known before… I could have reasoned with him…" he began, before Frigga cut him off. "Do not grieve yourself over what might have been, my son." she soothed. "Besides- there may still be hope…"

Thor stood up and went to his father's side, and they both stared at Frigga in curiosity. She let out a breath before continuing. "These past few nights, I have felt Thor's uneasiness. My dreams have grown increasingly troubled, and I couldn't make sense of them- until last night." she explained.

Odin's look was concerned, and Thor's intrigued, yet they both stayed silent-waiting for her to continue. Frigga stood up from the seat, facing her husband and her son. "Last night, I had a vision," she continued. "It was more than a dream- I was able to use my powers of projection to feel myself in the place I saw." Her eyes met Odin's. "The place I saw was Midgard," she explained. "Loki was there. He's alive."

"Midgard?" Odin repeated in disbelief. "What business does he think he has there? This is serious, Frigga. You should have warned me earlier!" he exclaimed, becoming more aggressive as his mind raced with the worst possible consequences.

Frigga regarded her husband calmly. "I was waiting for the right moment," she said. "And what better sign did I have than you deciding it was time to tell our son the truth about his brother?"

Able to stay silent no longer, Thor interjected. "It matters not where Loki is, nor why," he stressed. "What's important is that he's alive! Father- I must go down to Midgard. Immediately." Thor began pacing, thoughts swarming around in his head. His anxiousness to find his brother and talk to him was accompanied by a warm feeling in his chest as he realized that he could.

"Thor, you know our bridge was destroyed, making travel to the other realms nearly impossible," the king spoke as he rubbed his temples. "Still perhaps… no, it would be far too dangerous." He stroked his thick beard in thought, "But what choice have we? We have been able to maintain peace with the Midgardians, but if Loki walks among them I know not what he will do. I believe I can conjure enough of my powers to send you down to Midgard, but it will be perilous for us both and your safe return cannot be guaranteed."

Excitement surged through Thor, and he gave his parents a wide smile. "I am willing to do anything, father," he said, his eager tone highlighted with seriousness. "Send me to Midgard! I will find Loki and convince him to return home."

Frigga raised a hand to her son's face, stroking his cheek. "Be careful," she warned gently. Thor reached up and held her hand against his face, closing his eyes at her touch. "I will, mother," he assured her. "And when I return I shall bring your other son home to you." Releasing her hand, Thor turned to Odin and nodded, gripping Mjolnir's hilt tightly. "I am prepared, whenever you are." he said.

Odin motioned for Thor to follow him, and once outside the palace he held his son's shoulder and spoke. "Do what you see fit, my brave son. I place my trust in your judgement. But remember this: though you still see Loki as your brother, he may not see you as his. If the worst of situations arise, you must not treat him as your flesh and blood, but for what he truly is." And with that the wind swirled as lightning lit the sky and a boom of thunder shook the ground. With a tremendous crash, the dwarf prince was sent hurtling to Midgard far below, unaware of what waited for him there.


	6. VI: The Cost of Revenge

The feeling of the earth underneath his feet again prompted Clint to slowly open his eyes. He hadn't realized that he had squeezed them shut. Taking in a slow breath, Clint forced himself to be alert and take in information about his surroundings. The rising sun spilled light across the rocks, playing with the shadows. He was on the other side of the mountain range, facing an ominous hole in the cliff face that seemed to lead to a cavern. He had been in the valley with Natasha… chasing after this guy… a quick glance up revealed that the man with the metal arm still stood near him, apparently waiting for the paralyzing effects of whatever that light had been to wear off. "I can't move either," Clint observed absently. "I really hope Nat found the supplies in that bag. I'll never hear the end of it if she thinks I just abandoned her."

Movement from the man with the metal arm snapped Clint's wandering thoughts back to the situation at hand. He felt pins and needles as feeling began to spread back into his limbs, and the man with the metal arm succeeded in taking a few steps. Clint groaned. It would be much more convenient if the guy would just stay paralyzed. Moments later, Clint succeeded in taking his own steps away from the man, strength surging back into his extremities. The metal armed man turned to look at him, and when their eyes met Clint felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He noticed for the first time that the man's eyes were an unnaturally blue color, almost as if they were glowing. Clint braced himself for an attack, his heart beating furiously as the image of Natasha bleeding on the ground pushed itself into his mind.

The man's gaze lingered, but he made no move towards Clint. Instead, he turned and headed into the mouth of the cave. The surge of adrenaline that had pulsed through Clint suddenly had nowhere to go, leaving him feeling sick on his stomach. "Or maybe that's just the gut feeling that this is a trap." he told himself. His wariness, however, was overruled by his anger at being ignored by this guy. He walked cautiously over to the cavern's entrance, glaring at the retreating figure. "Hey!" he yelled out, his voice hoarse. "You can't just walk away from this!"

Apparently, he could, because the man gave no indication that he was listening as he continued into the cave. Clint muttered under his breath. Yelling wasn't going to be effective, which was just as well because his throat still hurt. Reaching behind him, Clint's fingers brushed the shaft of one last arrow. Unhooking his bow and holding it tight, he placed the arrow gently onto the string. Eyes narrowed, he began following the metal armed man down into the abyss.

The tunnel began to twist, offering more turns the farther they went. The darkness saturated the walls and roof of the cavern path, and Clint had to rely on the sound of the footsteps ahead of him to know that he wasn't wandering off. This trek continued for a while, a thin layer of sweat accumulating on Clint's brow as he concentrated on where he was going. At last, the tunnel took one final sharp turn to the left and ended, the light at the end of it coming from an underground room which gave off a feeling that was nothing short of sinister. The irony of the situation was not lost on Clint. The metal armed man had disappeared from in front of him. Taking one last steadying deep breath, he pulled his arrow taut and entered the room, his eyes scanning every corner before finally landing on a new figure- a man with black hair and green robes. "Who are you?" Clint demanded, bow held in a defensive position.

The robed figure rose and strode through the dimly lit room towards Clint. "Who I am is none of your concern," his low voice spoke as he circled Clint the way vultures circle a possible meal. "Who you are is of much more importance." his mouth twisted into a wicked smirk as he stopped just short of the tip of Clint's still drawn arrow. The devilish grin widened as his eyes lingered on the eagle-shaped crested embossed on his quiver.

A tremor ran down Clint's arm, a side effect of keeping his arrow straight and the string of his bow pulled tight. He stared at the newcomer boldly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "That's not how this goes," he said. "I try to make it a habit not to reveal any secrets to creepy robed guys in underground caves."

"No matter," the man said. "I already know your one secret that matters for now, the rest can be revealed in time."

Clint was confused, which made him annoyed. "Look. I didn't come here for you. A man with a metal arm came in this way," he explained tersely. "He hurt someone important to me and I'm going to find him. If you stay here, fine. But if you get in my way…" he adjusted the arrow to hover over the man's heart. "I will shoot you. Clear?"

The man smiled and raised his hands defensively, "My sincerest apologies. It was not my intention for my servant Barnes to hurt your partner." He slowly reached behind his back and grabbed a strange staff with a stone that glowed bright blue. "You see, I ordered him to capture a member of this "Order of the Shield" and kill the any others that followed. I suppose it matters not as, with a wound like that, your partner's death will come soon enough," he spoke as his lips stretched into a wicked smile.

Anger flared up in Clint's chest like a flame, making his blood boil. His knuckles turned white as he kept his strained hold on his bow, still aimed at the man's heart. "Shut. Your. Mouth." Clint hissed at him through clenched teeth. Another tremor ran down his arm, almost making him release his hold. He couldn't keep this up much longer. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, to the point. Clint really didn't want to kill the man, at least not until he had figured out what business he had with the Order of the Shield, but he also didn't want to keep him talking for so long that his arm gave out and he ended up being the one killed.

The man snickered as he looked down at the quivering arrow. "I really do not see what all the fuss is about. If I was going to kill you," his words faded as he disappeared in flash. "You would already be dead," he whispered into Clint's ear from right behind him.

Clint shuddered, turning on his heel and leveling his arrow to fire in one smooth motion. The action was short lived, however, as the man swiftly wrenched the bow from his grasp and twisted his strained arm painfully behind his back. Wincing, Clint tried to focus his senses on his attacker's movements, but the dull throbbing of his bruised throat and the uncomfortable fluttering of panic that bloomed in his chest made it nearly impossible. The man gave a smirk as he assessed the situation, bringing his staff closer and tapping the center of Clint's chest with it's pointed tip.

Immediately, Clint knew something was wrong. The man released his arm, but Clint had no urge to run. "This… this is bad. Very bad. Very….bad." his mind was becoming sluggish, The world slowly became tinted blue. "A calming color," Clint thought blurrily. As if in response, all of his instincts to fight left him, his heart rate going back to normal. The wide grin of the man with the staff was the only thing Clint remembered before his mind was no longer his own.


	7. VII: A Rouge Return

The halls of the fortress that housed the Royal Order of the Shield were uncharacteristically silent. Usually, Lord Nicholas would have important nobles visiting, and there would be chattering and laughter as people bustled through the corridors. At the moment, however, there was only one figure in the wide hallway- Sir Steven. Having had a few days to recover, the knight was finally able to get up and venture out of his chamber without having Dame Maria yell at him to rest.

Steven stepped lightly on the floor, careful not to make too much noise. Normally, he wouldn't have cared who heard him, but at the moment he was listening intently. Waiting. Someone was following him. He heard a dull thud against the wall behind him, and he gave a small smile. "Ah, too bad. I heard you, Phil- oof!" Steven was cut off as he found himself on the floor with the wind knocked out of him. Philip stood above him, wooden sword in hand. "Ah-hah! Not today, sire!" he crowed proudly. His smile fell when he noticed Steven had to take a minute to regain his breath. "I'm sorry- was that too much? Are you okay?" He asked in concern.

Steven laughed at the boy. "Too much? That was great!" he smiled. "Your stealth is definitely getting better." Philip beamed, reaching a hand down and helping Steven stand back up. "What else should we do today?" he asked excitedly. "I've been working on my footing! See?" Steadying the wooden sword, Philip scrunched his nose in thought. "Thrust, step, parry. Thrust, step, parry," he repeated to himself under his breath. Steven watched merrily. He had to admit, the boy's technique was improving, and rapidly.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Steven looked down the hallway past Philip. "Ah, hello Dame Maria! Don't you think Philip is doing wonderfully?" he yelled out. Startled, Philip parried where he was supposed to step, sending his sword bouncing off the wall. He looked wildly in both directions down the empty hallway before slowly realizing he had been tricked. Stephen chuckled. "Stealth, footing, all important- but useless if you don't have concentration." he instructed. The tips of Philip's ears turned red. "What do you say we practice sparring right now?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

Steven raised his hands in mock defense. "Did I offend my squire's honor?" he teased. "In that case, a duel is most warranted. You may choose the weapon." Philip smiled at the chance to show off his knowledge of chivalrous combat. He was about to suggest they use the quarterstaffs, when suddenly the door at the end of the hallway was flung open. The good natured atmosphere in the room suddenly soured as both knight and squire saw Natasha clinging to the doorway- bloody.

Natasha gripped her bandages with one hand while she attempted to stay on her feet. She knew she should not have traveled so far so quickly in her condition, but she knew with every minute that passed her chances of ever seeing Clint again lessened. "Summon… Lord Fury… now!" she struggled to order between labored breaths.

After a second of stunned silence, Steven snapped into action. "Do as she says," he told Philip. Philip nodded and spun around, bolting down the hallway. Steven hurried to Natasha's side. "How bad is it?" he asked, peeling back the bandages to inspect the wound.

"It is nothing I cannot handle.. ngh," she gasped at the wave of pain shot through her abdomen as she unwound the bandages. "Worse... than... I thought," she said through gritted teeth. "But it's not important right now. Clint… in trouble. It's... my fault. We have to find him." She looked into Steven's eyes in desperation as her knees gave way and she sank to the floor.

His face set with determination, Steven reached down and picked Natasha up, effortlessly cradling her in his arms. He walked as quickly as he could down the hallway without jostling her injured side. Something stirred deep within him, a memory of a battle long past. He knew how important it was to keep your injured comrade calm... and awake. "Don't worry about your partner," he said confidently. "He'll be fine. We'll find him. Why don't you tell me exactly what happened? Start at the beginning so you don't leave anything out." he said. Battle training had set him on autopilot, routine running through his mind as he headed towards Lord Nicholas' chamber. "Keep her talking. Keep her awake. Ease her mind. Ease the pain." he thought.

He turned the corner and saw Lord Nicholas hurriedly coming towards them, robes billowing out behind him and concern etched on his face. Philip scurried beside him, carrying a woven pallet from the infirmary. Steven let out a small puff of relief. "And actually listen to what she's saying," he added to his mental checklist, noticing that he hadn't been paying attention to her story. She was in the middle of saying something about a man with a metal arm when Philip reached them with the pallet.

Steven gently laid her down on it and picked up the other end. Lord Nicholas' eye squinted as he looked at her, gently taking her hand with one of his and checking for a fever with his other one. "Natasha. What happened? Where's Clint?" he asked tensely.

"We were on a hunt. The man was stronger than I expected. I was not careful enough. He stabbed me and strangled Clint. I could not get to him in time, they both vanished in a flash of light. I have never seen anything like it or the man's metal arm. This is very dark magic at work, stuff we have not seen before, and Clint's in the middle of it," Natasha spoke as the pain surging through her gave way to anger and worry.

Lord Nicholas' expression darkened as he listened to her story. "This is what I've feared," he said. He nodded at Steven. "Your reappearance, and the discovery of the mystical cube, now this. There is no coincidence here. We must get to Lord Stark, immediately. Clint's life may now depend upon it."

Steven clenched his jaw. He had not yet had the pleasure of making Clint's acquaintance, but it didn't matter. He was on their side- he was an ally of Shield, and the looks on Nicholas and Natasha's faces when they spoke about him were heart wrenchingly familiar to Steven. He was going to help them, at any cost. "Let's get her to the infirmary," Steven said to Philip, whose arms were beginning to tremble with the effort of keeping his side of the pallet upright. "We can't travel anywhere until we address her wound." Lord Nicholas gave a solemn nod of agreement, and they all traveled down the hallway in a tangible silence.

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	8. VIII: Seeking the Sorcerer

The realm of York prided itself with a vast and varying landscape. From the dense forest around the fortress of The Royal Order of the Shield, to the open and airy mountain region, those who called it home were anything but bored with their surroundings. Of course, this led to a great variety of resources for the people, and trade flourished. The trading ports on the eastern coast of York were the hub of social life, with villages dotting the shoreline. Over half the realm's population had settled in the east, so naturally that is where Lord Anthony Stark had decided to build his rather large and noticeable castle.

Stark castle sat atop the well known "Brandish Bluff", a cliff of white rock that jutted out over the water below. Many believed that the castle's high position above the surrounding villages was a less-than-subtle reference as to how Lord Anthony saw himself compared to the resident "peasants". Despite this, the enchanter did have a good rapport with the villagers, though his tendency to work through the night had started a great deal of gossip.

As darkness fell on the coast, the castle would be illuminated, a shining beacon against the night sky. Villager children would gaze in interest, whispering to each other. "I've heard he's a vampire," one would say to the other, before their mother came to usher them to bed. Had the villagers been looking through one of the windows of the castle, they would have beheld an interesting sight.

Lord Anthony was busy at work, alone except for a white barn owl sitting on a perch in the corner. The nocturnal creature had proved to be the best companion for Anthony, given his irregular sleeping habits. The owl, who was called Jarvis, acted as the constant voice of reason in all of the enchanter's escapades. Even now Jarvis had his head cocked to one side as he watched Anthony work. Something caught the owl's eye, and he ruffled his feathers and straightened up before calmly voicing his concern. "Excuse me, M'Lord," he began. "But you are aware that the Actaea pachypoda you are about to put in that poultice is highly poisonous if consumed?"

"Oh, you don't say?" Anthony muttered as he nonchalantly popped a few of the berries into his mouth and without breaking his concentration.

Jarvis gave a small strangled hoot at the seemingly suicidal move. "M'Lord, I don't think you quite understand the gravity of the situation- the poison you have just ingested leads to-" the owl cut himself off as realization dawned on him. "...heart failure."

Anthony smiled wide, showing his purple berry-stained teeth. "That is the curious thing about heart failure," he chuckled as he tapped the chest scar hidden under his tunic, "it requires a heart."

He carefully sprinkled a measure of the crushed Actaea pachypoda into a smoking cauldron. "But if I am correct, which we both know I always am, when these berries are added to the right combination of cypress tree bark, fresh spring water, and Aconitum they will allow me to access their magical properties that are quite remarkable." Waving his wand above the bubbling mixture in the cauldron, he began to recite incantations that would have sounded like nonsense to anyone less experienced than he.

After a final flourish of the wand, he pulled on a leather glove and dipped it deep into the freshly brewed liquid, swirling it slowly. When he pulled his hand out, the glove glowed a brilliant blue in the dim chambers. "Now for the true test!" he exclaimed with an excited grin as he began to thrust his gloved hand right into the blazing fire beneath the cauldron. His fingers stopped just short of the flames as his brow furrowed, "Now did I put four or five measures on the berries in?" he wondered out loud. Many times he got so enthralled with all the possible applications of his experiments and inventions that he sometimes neglected the smaller specifics. Such instances had often left him with singed eyebrows and Jarvis with scorched tailfeathers and caused the fiery demise of one too many ill-hung tapestries.

"It does not really matter which, I suppose," the lord shrugged. "The only real difference is four measures will achieve my desired results while five would cause an explosion that would level this tower as well as everything within a five mile radius. Either way, here goes!" he exclaimed, shoving his hand into the base of the fire before Jarvis could protest.

He held still for a moment, teeth clenched tight and eyes squeezed shut as he braced for possible impact. Feeling nothing, he opened his eyes and withdrew his hand from the fire. He stood up and slowly unfurled his gloved fist to unveil a small blue flickering flame. An eager smile crossed his face as he quickly spread his fingers, and the fire leapt to life in the palm of his hand. "Do you see this?" he exclaimed excitedly, thrusting the handheld flame towards Jarvis. "Pyromanipulation! I knew it!"

Practically vibrating with excitement, Anthony hastily dove another glove into the enchanted liquid and grasped a handful of fire with it. He faced his fists to the floor and with a flick of the wrists he spread his fingers wide as white hot flames flew downwards from his palms with such force his feet briefly left the ground.

Jarvis ruffled his feathers as the sudden wave of heat swept past his perch. "Most impressive, M'Lord," the owl congratulated. "However, I'm not quite sure how I feel about not being the only one around here gifted with flight."

At that moment, Jarvis' head cocked to one side. "Someone's coming," he announced, a few seconds before a knock could be heard at the door. The pre-occupied Anthony didn't stir from his spot, all of his attention fixated gleefully on his gloves. Jarvis shuffled his feet on his perch. "M'Lord," he tried again, a bit louder. "The door?"

No response.

With a sigh, Jarvis unfolded his snowy white wings and propelled himself upwards, hanging in the air for a moment before gently soaring across the room. He grabbed the rope that was tied to the latch of the door with his beak, tugging on it in an attempt to unlock it himself. The knocking sounded more urgent. "Coming, coming," Jarvis grunted, the words muffled around the rope he held. After a brief struggle, he succeeded in lifting the heavy latch with a sharp tug to the right. The door swung open with an unexpected speed, sending Jarvis toppling backwards and two visitors tumbling into the room.

"Lord Anthony!" Nicholas's powerful voice bellowed in frustration as he pushed through the door. Startled out of his concentration, Anthony whipped around at the commotion only to send a ball of flame right above the cyclops' head. The flame bounced off a shield mounted on the wall and collided with the vials of magical liquids on his table which promptly exploded in a small cloud of multicolored smoke. Anthony smiled as if nothing had happened as he approached the unamused cyclops. "Lord Nicholas! It has been a long time since we last met and I hoped to keep it that way. Say, have you ever tried knocking before you go barging into a room?"

The colorful smoke began to settle around the room, tinting everybody with rainbow hues. Jarvis scratched at the floor in annoyance as his white feathers took on the unfortunate look of a parrot. Anthony was not phased, and Nicholas crossed his arms in irritation. He glanced over at Steven, who stood behind him, giving him a "we-wouldn't-be-here-if-we-didn't-have-to-be" look.

Turning his attention back to Anthony, Nicholas forced a genial expression on his face. "Lord Anthony," he greeted. "It's been too long. Unfortunately, we find ourselves in need of your assistance."

Anthony groaned and rolled his eyes at the thought of interrupting his own endeavors to be of service to someone else. "Look, you are not the only one who is "in need of my assistance" right now. That is quite the long list and at the moment I am at the top of it. Hence, if you want me to help you, make an appointment with Jarvis like the rest of the kingdom," he said with a haughty wave as he turned his back to them.

Jarvis, still perturbed at his new tropical color scheme, twisted his beak into a sly smile. "Pardon me, m'lord- but there have been no villagers inquiring for help as of late." he said. "Your schedule seems to be completely vacant."

Nicholas grinned widely. "Well, isn't that most convenient?" he chuckled. "Sir Steven, I believe we are going to receive help after all."

"Traitor!" Stark muttered as he shot a fiery glare at the owl just before turning back to Fury and Steven with an unconvincing false smile. "Well, it seems I have taken care of all my previous engagements with the utmost efficiency which is why I am…" he paused to let out a dramatic yawn, "so very tired and grateful for the time to rest that you so rudely interrupted."

Nicholas fought the urge to roll his eye, instead giving Anthony a hearty pat on the back. "Never fear, Lord Stark," he said jovially. "I'm sure that with your talent and ability, our problem will be solved in no time."

Steven watched the forced geniality between the two men in front of him thoughtfully. It was clear that Nicholas knew what he was doing when it came to convincing Anthony, but Steven's patience was beginning to wear thin. The enchanter's flippant attitude irked him when he thought about the lives that were at stake. "Lord Stark," he interjected. "We've found evidence of dark forces at work among us. We need your help to find one of our own- and quickly."

Letting out a deep sigh of resignation, Stark gestured for the men to come in, but stepped in front of Steven. "And just who are you again?" he questioned with a smug smile.

Steven scanned the enchanter up and down, eyes slightly narrowed. Nicholas shot the knight a warning glance over Anthony's shoulder, his expression practically screaming for him not to mess this up now. Steven plastered a more friendly smile on his face. "Sir Steven….Steven. Knight of the realm." he introduced himself, reaching out a hand. The gesture was met with another unexpected burst of blue flame, that singed the side of his arm. Steven gave a startled yelp and jerked his hand away, swatting bits of fire from his shirt with a scowl.

Surprised yet pleased with himself, Stark chuckled at the knight's reflexive jump. "I was just trying to make sure you were fully thawed out." He noticed the quizzical look on Steven's face upon his recognition, "Do not look so shocked, I heard about them finding you in that icy water up North. Little news gets past me, even while I am up here."

Steven cleared his throat, annoyance bubbling up inside of him. "I'm flattered you've heard of me- but I'm not the one we need to be discussing." he said calmly, shooting Nicholas a look.

Nicholas picked up on the hint and interrupted. "He's correct, Lord Anthony. We are looking for one Clint Barton- his safe return is our top priority. We believe that his disappearance has something to do with this." The cyclops shuffled through the folds of fabric in his robes before finally locating his pocket. From it he removed the small cube, it's blue surface glowing with an unknown power.

Raising his eyebrows in interest, Stark clinched his fists to extinguish the flames and cast the gloves aside. He held it up to the candle light and examined the mysterious object. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. "Where did you get this?" he implored, eyes widening with fascination.

Nicholas motioned towards Steven. "It was discovered near him, which has only raised more questions for us." he explained. Steven's eyebrow twitched. "I, for one, grow weary of questions," the knight said. "It is time we had answers. What can you tell us, Howard?" A moment passed before Steven realized his mistake. "Anthony." he corrected himself. "Anything?"

Stark's eyes rose from the cube's surface to shoot Steven a murderous glare at the mention of his father's name. He typically would have reacted much more intensely, but his preoccupation with the newfound power dulled the blow to his ego. "Well…" Anthony started, turning the cube gently while staring into it. "It is definitely extremely powerful, expertly forged, and surprisingly not mine- which makes me both quite jealous and fairly frightened. One would have to be incredibly powerful to forge something of this nature and even more so to wield it." A wild hunger grew in his eyes and his trance grew stronger. "I wonder…" he mumbled reaching behind him for his wand.

Nicholas noticed the gleam in the enchanter's eyes and swiftly strode forward. "Ah, no," he muttered, removing the cube from Anthony's hands. "You know what they say about curiosity- dead cats and all that." He gave a wide grin as he passed the cube smoothly over to Steven. "We are grateful for your insight and service with this endeavor, Lord Anthony. We are hoping to employ Master Banner as well." With a nod towards Steven to do the same, Nicholas started towards the door. "We shall meet again soon."

To say that they had captured Anthony's interest was an understatement. It was clear that his thoughts were racing at a hundred miles an hour, but he still managed a distracted gesture of farewell in their general direction. Jarvis shook out his feathers, sending remnants of color raining down on the floor. He flapped over to the door apologetically. "He eagerly awaits your return," the owl translated for his master.

Nicholas gave a small grin and nodded in farewell, following Steven out the door. Once they were gone, all that was left for Jarvis to do was clean up after Anthony- and worry about what havoc he was getting himself into this time.

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